The List
by ModernNerd20
Summary: Bellamy could admit that she didn't have the cleanest record, or the prettiest past. But for the past year or so, she'd tried like to hell to keep her head down and out of trouble. Not for her sake, but for her niece, Miya. When Frank Castle barges into her life, she'll fight tooth and nail to make sure Miya is safe. But she can'd do it alone. Frank, OFC- slow burn.
1. Chapter 1

**Hiya! So I just finished the Punisher aaannndddd I'm hooked. I'd cast Emmy Rossum for Bellamy, just to give you an idea to run with while you read. Read and review, I live for that shit. **

One

Bellamy felt him before she saw him. She felt a looming presence in her supposedly empty apartment from the instant she crossed the threshold. Miya, the unstoppable 4 year old, scampered past her before Bellamy was able to grab her collar and reign the child back. Her eyes, now wide with caution, scanned the space in front of her. Empty, nothing out of the ordinary. No giant monster springing from the shadows. Was she being paranoid?

No. She learned a long time ago to trust her gut. And right now, her gut told her that they weren't alone in the dank little studio. Her first instinct was call Miya back to her, pick up the child and run. But she didn't trust her own voice not to crack with fear, alerting the intruder that she knew. So she calmly made her way to the kitchen. There were knives in the kitchen, weapons. Silently, she cursed herself for getting rid of that old glock she used to carry. The thought of having a gun around Miya was just too much. Too many horror stories had blared on the news about toddlers finding weapons and mishandling them, ending in tragedy. She had nowhere to lock a gun up, so the solution was simple. Get rid of it.

Now, she was kicking herself for the decision.

Slowly, she worked one of the kitchen drawers open. The damn things had always been tight and noisy, which had only been a problem when she wanted to rummage for a late snack without waking Miya. Funny how the squeaking always seemed so much louder when she needed it to be silent.

It had been no more than sixty seconds since Bellamy and Miya returned home, but in her mind, everything had been in slow motion. In that solitary minute, a thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Was someone really here? Who was it? What did they want? Why had they chosen her shitty apartment to rob when there were penthouse a few blocks away? Maybe they weren't here to rob her. Maybe they were here FOR her. Voices played in her head, thick and heavy with Irish accents, repeating the same horrible and terrifying things they'd said to her 14 months ago.

Another sound infiltrated her ears. A small creek. She knew exactly where it was coming from. The old linoleum floors of the kitchen have irritated her since the day she moved in. Especially that one particular square that creaked under even Miya's weight.

Whoever it was, they were right behind her.

The handle of the knife was in her hand now. She had to turn around. She had to. Because if she didn't, Miya wouldn't have a chance in hell. So she turned.

Bellamy was fast, but he was faster. The man behind her caught her wrist as she brought the knife up towards his heart. She threw her body weight at him, hoping to knock him off balance. It seemed to work for a moment, forcing him to take a step back. Her closed fist made hard contact with the side of his face. It wasn't the first punch she'd ever thrown, but it had been a while. She forgot how much it stung her knuckles to connect with someone else's cheek bone.

While he was distracted, she made to dart out of his reach. She didn't even take a step before his hand clamped into her hair and he threw her up against the closest wall. Her shoulder slammed into a small hanging picture frame. The frame and broke glass scattered on the counter and floor around her. Before she could react, a forearm was pressed against her chest, pinning her to the spot. She struggled against it, biting her nails into his arm, feeling them break through the skin. But he was solid as a wall.

The pressure on her chest made it hard to take a breath, leaving her winded and weak. She kept pushing as if her life depended on it, because it did. She clawed at him, trying to reach for his face. But every attempt he thwarted easily, as though her flailing limbs were just an inconvenience.

"Aunt Bell." A tiny voice sounded from the corner of the kitchen. Miya's big green eyes stared at the scene wide with terror.

"No." the word came out as a breath. "No, no." Bellamy repeated the word in horror. Her attacker was caught off guard by the little girl. His head snapped in her direction and Bellamy felt his arm ease up off her chest. She took advantage.

Fingers curling around a fragment of the broken glass, she swiped upward, slicing across his arm. He backed up, letting her out of his reach for an instant.

"Miya run!" Bellamy choked out. But that damn little girl, bless her heart, stayed rooted in place.

"Aunt Bell." She cried out again, tears now spilling over her lashes. Bellamy turned her attention back to her assailant. She struck out again with the shard of glass, but he was ready for her. Catching her wrist once again, he easily wrenched her arm behind her back nearly popping her shoulder from the socket.

"Easy." he said quietly enough for Miya not to hear. "Calm her down." His voice warned her against fighting. And seeing that the girl was on the verge of a break down, Bellamy knew it was best to keep her as calm as possible. Fear would only trigger more chaos.

"Miya, baby, I'm okay. I'm okay." She cooed, keeping her voice as steady and sweet as possible. The man's free hand slid down her arm until reaching her hand, where he quickly snatched the glass and tossed it aside. Miya's eyes followed the glass and they carefully perked back up to the man himself.

"It's alright sweetheart." He said in a voice so deep that Bellamy could feel it rattle in his abdomen where her back was pressed.

"Don't talk to her." Bellamy growled.

"Fine." She felt his chest rise and fall with a quick silent laugh. "I'll talk to you." Bellamy struggled to break her wrist free from his vice like grip, but he twisted her arm harder, forcing her to quit before the bones cracked. "Why don't you go watch tv sweetheart." he said calmly to Miya. The girl looked to her aunt, silently asking for permission. Sending her to the living room got her out of his way, which was a good thing. But it also took her out of Bellamy's sight, which was the last thing she wanted.

While weighing her options, which were limited to say the least, Bellamy felt the man lean forward, bringing himself closer to her. His hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered.

"If I was going to hurt you, I would've done it already. Yeah?" the sound of his voice so close to her sent a cold shiver down her spine. Realizing that he wasn't exactly asking, she gave her niece a nod with a small smile.

"Go ahead baby." Being given the go-ahead, Miya slowly turned away from the adults. Bellamy saw the concern in the girl's eyes and felt a sudden ache of love towards her. She'd do whatever she had to do to keep her out of harm's way.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

As soon as they heard the soft cartoon voices from the television, the man released her. Bellamy spun to face him, rubbing out the tightness in her should. His face was hard and sharp. High cheekbones perched on either side of a nose that had clearly been broken one too many times and incredibly deep set and dark eyes, made for a hell of an intimidating look. Not to mention the bruises that lined her jaw. His features weren't the scariest thing about him. No, that award went to his size. Bellamy had never considered herself small, but she was absolutely dwarfed by this man. He towered over her with wide, ominous shoulders and a body so completely covered with muscles that her body shook with the thought the pain he could inflict.

"What do you want?" she asked, wasting no time.

"The list." he said simply.

"The list." she repeated as she shook her head. "What list? I don't…"

"Ah come on now, don't try to feed me that bullshit." she gave him an incredulous look. This all has to be a huge mistake.

"Look, I swear to God, I have no clue what you're talking about." As she spoke, he was shaking his own head and pulling something from his pocket. Bellamy tensed, unsure of what he was reaching for, but settled when she saw it was just a piece of paper. No, it was a photo.

"See this?" He held the picture up to her face. She recognized herself immediately. It was a shot of her on a security camera from the convenient store around the corner. She stopped there almost daily for a coffee on her way to work. It was hard to tell how recently it was captured, but it didn't really matter. He shoved it into her palm.

"Where did you get this?" she realized off handedly that her hands were shaking.

"The real question is, why are you still lying to me?" he cocked his head, challenging her.

"I told you," she said, her voice raising slightly, but not enough to alarm Miya. "I don't…"

"Yeah, you don't know anything." he cut her off. "But this right here," he grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the photo and brought it up eye level. "This picture was sent to every big time dealer in the city." He gave her second, waiting for something to make sense. When she showed no signs of understanding, he continued. "This picture along with a message saying that you held the list of names. Their names."

"They think I have this list, and that I'm going to release it? To the police?" Her eyes widened, finally grasping the seriousness. "That's ridiculous." a laugh bubbled past her lips.

"Bullshit." he spat. For the first time she noticed specks of blood that were splattered across the side of his face. Was it his? "You know who sent this around? You little boyfriend, Jimmy." he answered his own question.

"Jimmy?" she whispered. She hadn't seen Jimmy Kelley in over a year. "Jimmy's…"

"Dead." he finished.

"He's dead?" she asked blankly.

"You don't seem too broken up about it." he was studying her face, making her uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"Broken up? After all the shit he put me through?" she cracked an almost evil smile. "After all the shit he let them do to me? No, I'm not broken up. I'm glad he's dead." She surprised even herself with this honesty and cruelty. "I hope it hurt."

"It did." he answered after a long pause. Her eyes met his. Had he seen it happen? Or had he been the one to do it? That blood on his face answered the question for her. "He sent this out before he died. Now why would he do this if it wasn't true, huh?"

"Aunt Bell." Miya's little voice called from the next room. Bellamy ignored it and answered the man's question.

"Because that's how Jimmy is. Was." She corrected. "Always liked to get the last laugh, and what better way to screw me over from the grave then to send every gang and drug runner in New York after me." Her hands were balled into tight fists.

"Nah," he shook his head. "This isn't a game. You've got it."

"Fuck you." She shot at him. Their eyes locked, set in a standoff. There was nothing else she would be able to do to convince this guy he was wrong.

"Aunt Bell!" Miya called again. Without taking her own dark eyes off his, she hollered back.

"Yeah baby, what is it?"

"There's lights on the wall!" She announced cheerfully. Bellamy knitted her brows together in confusion.

"Lights on the wall?" She whispered before turning to see what Miya was talking about. There were in fact, three little red lights dancing on the wall by the TV. The instant she saw them, was when the man behind her yelled.

"Get down!" As the words left his lips gunfire rang out. He dove on top of Bellamy, forcing her to the ground. Bullets cut through the thin apartment walls as if they were butter. When a stray bullet hit the tv, sparks streamed over the floor like fireworks.

Bellamy lifted her head enough to find Miya screaming on the couch and covering her ears. Then, to her horror, the girl jumped off the couch. She was coming towards them, right through the blazing path of the bullets. Before she had time to react, the man launched himself at the girl, completely cover her small body with his own. Bellamy felt relief surge through her. She army crawled her way to them and slipped her hand underneath him to find Miya's tremble fingers. She squeezed, letting the girl know she was with her.

When the shots finally ceased, the man picked himself up but remained crouched.

"Up, up." He ushered them to a similar position as his own. "Go, stay low." Bellamy, arm hooked around Miya's waist, hurried towards the door. "There a basement in this place?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah there is." Bellamy looked Miya over. Blood covered the front of her pink shirt. But before Bellamy had time to panic, he spoke out.

"It's mine. She's fine." He pushed her towards the door and around the corner. Once the windows of her apartment were out of sight, he stood up straight. "Go to the basement. Stay there until I come get you." The neighbors were screaming and shouting, babies crying, alarms going off. Bellamy blinked several times, not fullying hearing the words falling from his mouth. Her eyes flicked down to Miya, who she had a death grip hold on.

Fingers grabbed onto Bellamy's chin and forced her face up, forced her eyes to his. She tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong.

"Basement. Go." he let go and nudged her towards the stairwell. She heard him this time and responded accordingly. She lugged Miya up into her arms and took off down the stairs.

Four flights, she just had to make it down four flights and then she could allow herself to take a breath. The basement was exactly what you'd expect from an old musty apartment building. Damp, dark, cold and filled with people's useless shit they were too lazy to bring to the dumpster. She pressed Miya between herself and one of the cement walls, admittedly she was probably suffocating the four year old.

Bellamy's heart raced as she fumbled for a plan. He said to stay here and wait for him. But why the hell would she do that? Minutes ago he had broken into her home, manhandled her, threatened her, and nearly ripped her arm from it's socket. He wanted the same thing the shooters did. How did she know he wouldn't pull a gun on her? How did she know he wouldn't hurt Miya to get answers from Bellamy? How did she know he wasn't _with_ the shooters?

_It's mine _he'd said when Miya's blood stained shirt almost threw Bellamy into a fit. She patted the girl on the head and she looked up.

"Are you hurt?" Bellamy asked nervously. Miya shook her head, tears still freely streaming down her cheeks. It made her heart shatter. This poor innocent little girl was terrified, experiencing things no child should ever have to be a part of. She would be traumatized for the rest of her life.

But she wouldn't be dead. She wouldn't have physical scars to remind her of this night. Bellamy's left thigh muscle began to twitch from her own bad memories. She could imagine the long pink scar that graced her otherwise smooth skin. Yeah, at least Miya wouldn't have that.

He'd jumped over her. Had he been shot? Is that where the blood came from? She tried to fit his actions into her theories. But how would saving Miya do him any good if it were his partners shooting through the window? Maybe, this was his way of gaining her trust. Maybe, his plan was to get close and then torture her for information. Information she didn't have.

"Come on." Bellamy whispered down to Miya a few minutes later. She couldn't wait for him. She _shouldn't_ wait for him. She had to protect Miya, and trusting the man who broke into her home and attacked her is NOT the way to do it.

With Miya holding onto the back of Bellamy's shirt, she slowly and cautiously made her way towards the exit. Where she'd go, she had no idea. But they were sitting ducks in that basement. The police station was only a few blocks away. They could make it.

She paused halfway up the stairs. There was only one functional exit to the old building, and it opened up facing the main street. They could be waiting for her. But when Bellamy heard the rush of voices and footsteps from her terrified neighbors, she pushed Miya out into the crowd. They could blend right in and go unnoticed by the gunmen.

She followed the throng of people, moving hurriedly among them towards the direction of the police station. Far off she could hear sirens as they responded to the shots and panic. Suddenly, a hand appeared and grabbed her just above the elbow.

"Just keep walking." The familiar voice said, applying just enough pressure to remind her that she couldn't break free of his grip. He pulled her closer to his side, trying to act as though he were a concerned protector to those who scrambled by. She could feel the gun stuck in the waistband near his hip but she didn't dare go for it. Miya was lodged in between them and when Bellamy peered down, she saw his hand splayed over the girl's back, coaxing her along with them.

"Just let us go." She said loudly enough for him to hear over the clatter but low enough so no one else could hear. She was afraid of what he'd do if she were to cause a scene.

"Get in the truck." He commanded, opening the passenger door of a black truck parked on the corner. Without hesitation, he hoisted Miya up by the underarms and set her down in the middle of the bench seat. He held the door, waiting for Bellamy to follow the child in. "Move." His voice was low and impatient, warning her not to argue. By the time she climbed in to grab Miya, he was already settling into the driver's seat. She thought about trying to jump back onto the sidewalk, but the truck was speeding off, door still open.

"You have to take us to the police." Bellamy tried to appeal to him. "You haven't hurt us, you technically saved Miya's life. I can't repay you but I can promise that I won't even mention you to them." She was begging and she hated it. He ignored the pleas. "Please, I have nothing. I would have given it to you by now! Just let me go to the police!"

His head snapped to the side, dark eyes boring into hers. He shoved a hand into the pocket of jeans, pulled something out and threw onto Bellamy's lap. She picked it up to examine.

A badge.

"Pulled it off the shooter." He said, digging back into his pocket. "Along with this." He held the picture up for her to see. It was the same one he'd shown her in the apartment. No, not the same, it was another copy. The one he'd handed her upstairs was tucked away in her own pocket.

"I don't…" She trailed off, shaking her head in confusion.

"That list," his eyes darted between the rearview and side mirrors. "names a lot of dirty cops." He finished. "They want you dead as much as the scum gang members. Only difference is, cops are smarter. They're quieter, they're sneaky, and they'll plant the evidence." He pulled off to the side of and abandoned back alley. "Now maybe if it were just you, you'd take the chance and March right into the NYPD, without knowing which ones are dirty. A real risk taker, yeah? But it's not just you." He glanced down at the top of Miya's head. "You don't look like a stupid girl to me." Miya looked up at Bellamy with wide eyes. _Stupid _was the newest word Miya had added to her vocabulary and had been scolded every single time she was caught saying it. The look in her eyes told Bellamy she was waiting for her to yell at the man. There was a long stretch of silence that settled over the truck.

"Where are you taking us?" she finally asked in a whisper, afraid to learn the answer.

"I've got a place." he gruffed back. "Off the grid." She nodded, wheels turning in her brain. Did she have another option? Open the door and dive out, pray that it didn't kill her and Miya. Go with him and hope he doesn't kill them himself. She thought of the hard feel of the gun she'd felt when he'd pulled her into him before.

"Did you kill them?" she asked suddenly. She shook the police badge in her hand, helping him understand her question.

"Yeah." The blunt answer should have scared her, but she felt more relief than anything.

"Where are we going?" Miya asked, her small voice drawing both of their attention. Bellamy offered her the best smile she could muster.

"Some place safe, baby?" she said, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. She prayed that she hadn't just lied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Netflix isn't renewing the Punisher! ugh, why are they trying to ruin our lives?! I guess we'll just have to keep reading fanfics for our fix :) **

THREE

"This is it?" Bellamy asked about 30 minutes later. They'd pulled up to a small trailer in back of an old car yard. He wasn't kidding when he said it was off the grid. No one could find this place, even with a map.

He said nothing but shut the truck off and pushed his door open. Miya had fallen asleep in the seat between them. She watched through the windshield as his hulking form made its way around the hood and to her door.

"Let's go." His voice sounded exhausted, and she was sure it mimicked her own. But there was something more. Not only did he sound tired, he looked like he could collapse at any second. She noticed his ashen face and how he leaned against the open door for support as she crawled out of the truck. He ushered her and the now fully awake four year old towards the trailer, keeping a good two feet behind them. When she reached the door, she stood aside, allowing him to pick the key from his pocket. To her surprise, he handed her the key.

Inside was exactly what she'd pictured. A small simple camper. Old and worn couch against the wall, a rinky sink embedded into a tiny countertop, and a small round table with two chairs. Down the hall, if it could be called that, she could see the corner of a bed through a door of hanging beads. The only other door in the trailer she imagined as a bathroom.

As if reading her mind, Miya yanked hard on her hand and beconded for her to bend down. The child whispered something into her ear, cautious eyes flickering over the man still in the doorway behind them. Bellamy stood up and faced him.

"She needs to use the bathroom." she announced, refusing to ask permission for her niece to do what she needed to do. He nodded in the direction of the closed door down the hall and bellamy hurried the girl towards it.

As soon as she shut the door, her hand instinctively went for the lock. But there was none. That mild inconvenience was the tipping point, the straw that broke the camel's back. She leaned her forehead against the wood and closed her eyes, fighting the sting of the tears. She heard Miya moving around, no doubt getting herself up on the toilet.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at the door with her fists and rip the shower curtain down, and break the mirror and destroy everything else within her reach. But the little hiccup behind her was a reminder that she had to stay calm.

Silently, she assessed her options again.

She couldn't run, not with Miya. It was winter in New York City and she hadn't the faintest idea where they were. Without a jacket, Miya would freeze, and Bellamy couldn't be sure that she'd take them in the right direction. What if they ended up in an alley filled with criminals or on the peer with nothing in sight except far off ships. The city at night was dangerous. Especially for someone with an apparent price on their head.

She couldn't call for help. Even if she had her phone, or could manage to steal his, she had no one. After her sister died Miya had come to stay with Bellamy, not because she was the best family member to raise her, but because she was the ONLY family she had. After Jimmy, her sister had been the last contact in her phone. Her last life line. Her last connection. For the past year, it had just been Bellamy and Miya. And he had made it obvious that the police couldn't be trusted.

She couldn't fight. Plain and simple. Unless she got her hands on a weapon, she had no chance against him. He could crush her her with minimal effort. With a weapon, maybe she could give herself time to get away, but getting the weapon would be the hard part. She remembered the feel of the gun against her hip when he'd walked her to his truck. It was tucked safely between his belt and his own hip.

"Aunt Belly." Miya's small voice pulled her from her thoughts. "All done." she happily announced before flushing the toilet. Bellamy helped her wash her hands, though there was no soap. She wished they could just stay there, in the tiny bathroom with the warm water rinsing over their hands, until help arrived. Until this was all over. But they couldn't.

With a deep breath to steel herself, Bellamy turned the knob and stuck her head out of the bathroom. He was in the "kitchen", bodyweight leaning on the counter, arm bent at an awkward angle as if he were trying to see the back of his elbow. She realized with horror that he had taken off his sweatshirt and whatever he'd had on underneath, leaving him bare from the jeans up.

Seeing the muscles that rippled with every move sent a shudder of terror down her spine. Her earlier thoughts fighting him, even with a weapon, evaporated. She could never win. The man was like a fucking statue. Hard and cut.

Dark blood oozed from his shoulder, leaving red trails over his forearm and bicep to form a puddle on the counter. His other hand worked to sew the flesh together, the sharp needle working its way in and out of his skin.

_It's mine._ His earlier words ran through her mind again. He'd been hit with one of the bullets in her apartment. It seemed like hours ago, though it couldn't have been more than 45 minutes. How had she not noticed? Bellamy felt her breath catch as she watched the needle slide through his flesh again. He must have heard her, causing his head to snap up in her direction. He didn't stay trained on her long, only a second or two, before focusing back on his work. Bellamy pushed Miya back in the bathroom when the little girl tried to get past her. She didn't need to see that.

"I have to go too." she told the girl, closing the door for a second time. She took her time, praying that he'd be done when they finally left the safety of the bathroom. And he was. Fully clothed and looking as intimidating as ever, he was waiting for them right outside the door.

"Get some sleep." he inclined his head to the far room where she'd caught a glimpse of the bed. "There's clothes in the drawers for you to…"

"We're not changing out of our clothes." Bellamy folded her arms over her chest. Did he think she was stupid? Like she was going to let Miya and herself get naked with him only feet away. In a room with beads serving as a door? Hell no. His eyes glanced down to her chest and middle, causing blood to flood her cheeks, then he shrugged.

"Suit yourself." he turned and headed for the couch. Without taking his boots off, he threw his legs up over the one arm and used the other to support his head. He looked absolutely ridiculous. His body was way too long and wide for that sorry excuse of furniture. But of course, Bellamy wasn't about to voice that thought aloud. Instead, she let her own eyes wander down to her stomach. Her shirt was splattered with blood that she realized could only be his since neither her nor Miya were bleeding. She tried to think of how it got there. When she'd held Miya? When she'd cut his arm with the glass?

Regardless of how the blood go there, it was there. And it was in Miya's shirt too. This experience was traumatic enough for the kid, she wasn't going to make her sleep in bloody clothes all night. Back in the bedroom, Bellamy fumbled through the neatly filled drawers. The crisp folds of the shirts, jeans and sweats gave her the impression that her new "friend" was military.

She pulled a T-shirt for Miya, it would probably hang to her toes anyway. For a long moment she debated about her own shirt. She could handle the blood, but could Miya?

"Look Aunt Bell!" Miya giggled and held her arms out. She was swimming the black shirt Bellamy had given her. "Where's yours?" She peered into the drawer on tip toe. "There all the same." She added with disappointment when she realized each shirt was a different shade of black.

"They are, aren't they." Bellamy tussled the girls hair and picked out a shirt for herself. Leaving her bra and jeans, she tugged it over her head. It was big, but it did the job. She ushered her into the bed, deciding it was too cold to not slip under the blankets herself. Plus, she wanted to hold Miya, needed to have her close.

"I'm hungry." Miya whispered after they had both settled in. In all the chaos, Bellamy hadn't even thought about feeding her, or herself for that matter. She thought about the chicken she'd had thawing in the microwave of her apartment. That should have been their dinner.

"We'll have breakfast as soon as we wake up." she promised, unsure of how she'd keep her word. He was human, right? There had to be something to eat in this goddamn trailer.

She knew sleep wasn't going to come. Not with him sleeping in the other room, gun still tucked in his waistband. Not with every dangerous criminal in the city looking for her. Not with the coppery stench of blood in her nostrils. His blood. Bellamy focused on Miya's breaths, each one slow and deep as she was taken under by sleep. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid that she'd open them to find the girl gone. Instinctively, her arms pulled Miya closer. If she was quiet enough, Bellamy could just make out the movements in the next room. She heard him toss, and turn, and… whimper.

He was having a nightmare.

She listened carefully, half lifting herself up on an elbow to hear more. But the small cry only came once more. Bellamy fell asleep wondering what the hell a man like that was afraid of.


	4. Chapter 4

**Well here I am, practically weeping because the show has officially been cancelled. But I did hear a rumor that Hulu might pick it up. *sigh* A girl can dream. **

**Read and review! **

FOUR

Bellamy's eyes shot open the second she was awake. Memories from the night before flooding her mind. The intruder, the gun fire, the list, but what stuck out the most was the echo of Miya's sobs. Her little voice crying for her over the gunshots. The image of her scooting off the couch and running towards her, hands covering her ears. She could have lost her.

But she hadn't. Her hand roamed over the empty space of bed next to her.

It wasn't supposed to be empty. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide in horror. Miya wasn't next to her, she wasn't even in the bed.

"Miya!" she called, voice raspy with sleep. Ripping the heavy comforter back, she hurried to throw her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet got tangled in the covers and she half jumped half fell out of the bed, banging her arm against the corner of the dresser. She felt the sting, but it didn't slow her down. Breaking herself free of the damn blanket, she ran towards the door, well, the beads. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she didn't miss Miya somewhere in the bedroom, she collided with a hard chest.

"Calm down." he said, clamping hands on her biceps. She used all of her might to push him back a step.

"Where is she?" Bellamy huffed. He tilted his head back and her eyes followed the gesture. Miya was at the table, shoveling spoon fulls of cereal into her eager mouth. In front of her, a cell phone was propped up playing some mindless cartoon.

Bellamy lifted her eyes to meet his. She felt fire in her bones, anger bubbling in her veins. She wondered if he could see it, if her eyes were glowing from it.

"If I ever find you alone with her again," she trailed off, unsure of which words would hold the most toxicity. He cocked his head, dark eyes narrowing in on her.

"If I wanted to hurt that little girl," he moved forward, forcing Bellamy to take a step back. "I would have killed you back in your shitty little apartment and taken her." His voice was angry. She'd hit a nerve somehow.

He was trapping her, leaving such little space between them that had she been standing straight instead of leaning slightly back, their chests would be touching.

"Step back." She tried to keep her voice steady, but it shook regardless. He ignored her.

"You know damn well that I'm the only thing standing between the two of you and them." He hitched his head to the side, indicated the big bad world outside of his trailer.

Bellamy knew he was right. If he hadn't broken into her life, literally, she and Miya would have been dead. Bullets would have taken them down, or the shooters would have found them on street in the crowd, or she would have walked right up to one of them at the police station.

She admitted that he'd saved them. Both of them. And yeah, if he wanted to hurt them… or something worse… he'd had every opportunity to do so. But so far, he hadn't.

Regardless of his hero status, the man caused fear to anchor into every cell of her body. She tried to think of something to say, something to throw back at him, but her mind was blank. Completely consumed with his proximity.

"Aunt Bell!" Miya's little voice sailed into the bedroom. "Look!" Bellamy peered over his shoulder to see her holding up her bowl, milking threatening to thrash over the sides. "Frank has Captain Crunch!"

Her eyes met his. This whole time she'd never thought to ask his name. Frank. It didn't seem to fit him. It was too… homey. Too soft and loveable. The man in front of her was the opposite of soft, not a note of love-ability to his stone features or cold eyes.

"That's great." She called back, pushing her way past him, their shoulders scraping against each other on the way. She didn't look back at him. There was no point. The conversation was over as far as she was concerned. Apparently, the feeling was mutual. Frank took a seat on the sofa without a word.

Miya told her aunt all about her morning, which started very early. Frank let her use his phone to watch Moana, the music of which was still playing quietly in the background. And she had used the potty all on her own. At that, Bellamy whipped her head toward him eyes wide. But Miya continued proudly that she didn't need anyone to help her and that Frank said he'd come if she called. But she didn't need to call.

"Such a big girl." Bellamy tussled Miya's curls. The girl went on about her movie and her dreams. But Bellamy wasn't listening. Her mind and eyes were on Frank. After a few more minutes, when Miya finally fell silent and went back to watching her movie, Bellamy spoke. "So what do we do now? What's the plan?"

His eyes stared down at the phone in his hands. How many phones does this guy have? His silence annoyed her. He seemed to have a lot to say a few minutes ago, but now that she wanted some real answers he was going to shut up? No fucking way was she having that.

"Hello." she waved a hand in the air. "Plan. Do you have one?" when he again said nothing she added, "We can't stay here forever."

"You won't" he grumbled in a barely audible tone.

"Aunt Bell, look!" Miya reached across the table and shoved the other phone into her palm. "She looks like mommy!" the princess on the screen did resemble Bellamy's older sister. Dark hair, much like her own, falling in waves over her shoulders. Even darker eyes, wide set and round as saucers. The key difference was the olive skin of the princess. Her sister had been pale. Porcelain, as she used to remind her.

"Yeah, she does." Bellamy gave Miya a weak smile and gently pushed the phone back. She swallowed down the lump that formed in her throat every time she thought of her sister. Miya happily went back to watching the movie, giving it her entire focus. She was so innocently oblivious to the world that was crumbling around her.

"I have a plan." his voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Same plan as always, kill them before they kill me." he said in just over a whisper so Miya couldn't hear.

"They wouldn't be trying to kill you if you had just let us walk away." she countered, also keeping her voice low.

"Yeah, you're right." he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "But I'm an asshole who can't stay out of trouble. Hell, maybe if it were just you, I'd have let them do what they wanted. But when I see these scumbags going after a baby like her," he jutted his chin to Miya, "well, I can't just walk away from that."

"So you're the hero here?" she barked out on a laugh. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Miya's head perk up at the sudden change in volume.

"You know what? Yeah, I am." he stood up and she instantly did the same, refusing to let him look down at her. But even standing, she only came to his shoulders.

What the hell was she doing? Why was she arguing with the man who had kidnapped her? The man with the guns and brute strength of an ox. This stubbornness, this refusal to submit, was her fatal flaw. It's the same flaw that landed her in a world of hurt all that time ago with Jimmy and his crew.

Realizing her mistake and the consequences that challenging him could bring, she quickly sat back down. Bellamy held her breath, silently praying that he wouldn't hurt her in front of Miya. The girl had witnessed enough.

Nothing happened.

She felt his eyes on her but couldn't tear her own gaze from her hands. Miya giggled at whatever was happening in her movie, so gloriously unaware the tension filling the air around her.

"Follow me." He suddenly ordered, turning on his heels back towards the bedroom.

"Follow you?" Bellamy choked out in confusion.

"Yeah, is this really a conversation you wanna have in front of her?" His eyes flicked down to Miya and back to Bellamy. Of course it wasn't. But did she want to be alone with him? Absolutely not.

"Fine." She whispered, realizing that she didn't have much of a choice. What would he do if she argued, if she gave him a hard time? Would he take it out on Miya? Though her heart leaned towards no, her brain was thinking of all the movie plots the resembled this situation. Kidnapper wants something, kidnapped adult doesn't comply, kidnapper hurts the kid to get what they want. Plain. Simple. Terrifying.

Bellamy followed him to the back of the trailer and through the beads. She stood stock still, so close to the exit that she could feel the plastic beads brushing against the backs of her elbows as they swung. Frank didn't turn to face her. Instead, he opened up the same drawer that she had rummaged through last night. He pulled out a folded shirt and tossed it onto the bed, then continued searching through the next drawer. A pair of black jeans landed next to the shirt, followed by socks.

Just when she was begging to think that he'd forgotten she was standing there, he turned to her.

"You need to stop jumping out of your damn skin every time I move." He leaned back to half sit on the dresser.

"You broke into my home, threw me around, and then kidnapped us." She barked lowly, hoping not to startle Miya.

"You got in the truck willingly." Bellamy parted her lips to respond but he trekked on. "Look, we're not having this discussion again. I'm not gonna hurt you, or the kid. I'm not like those assholes."

"So you've said." If he didn't see her roll her eyes, he could have probably heard it in her voice.

"Would they have fed your kid breakfast?" He pushed away from the dresser, causing Bellamy to inch backwards further into the beads. "Would they have let you sleep peacefully? Would they have taken a bullet to keep her out of the way?" He paused and inhaled deeply. " I think you know just as well as I do what would have happened if I hadn't gotten to you first. They'd use her to get answers from you. They'd have tortured you, raped you. Both of you."

Bellamy visibly recoiled from the thought. Images and long buried memories flooded her senses, making it impossible for her to breathe.

"They're fucked up. They're evil." He continued slowly, watching her carefully as he did. " I think you know that from experience." Bellamy moved her eyes from the spot on the wall to which they'd been glued, over to his. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, no words being spoken, no breaths being taken. But it was overflowing with an understood message.

"Jimmy wasn't like that when we met." She said shakily. "I never would've gotten involved if…" her words faded.

"Hey, if a guy spits in your face on the first date, is he getting a second one?" She stared blankly, unsure of what he was trying to say. "No. They're all sweet and perfect until they've got you trapped. Until you're in too deep to just walk away."

Bellamy heard the logic in his words, and deep down, she knew he was right. What happened wasn't her fault. But she still couldn't help feeling foolish for getting involved in the first place. She couldn't even use the broken home and fucked up childhood as an excuse because her sister turned out fine. Married a nice, college educated man, had a good job, went to fucking yoga classes.

She got out.

Bellamy didn't.

"Look," he finally said on a long breath "those guys back there, they don't care who they kill. Right and wrong, that doesn't matter to them as long as they get what they want." His voice was calmer, softer even. She lifted her eyes again. "I may not be the good guy in this but right now, I'm the best shot you've got at getting out alive." Something in his voice made her want to believe him.

"Okay." She whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed. She couldn't put her finger on why. Maybe because she had stupidly agreed to let him help them. Maybe because she had stupidly challenged him in the first place. Or maybe, it was the way he casually lounged against that damn dresser. That thought made her acutely aware of herself and the space between them.

She couldn't imagine what she looked like to him. A small, insignificant and broken woman. Dark frizzy hair flying out of a haphazard bun. Yesterday's makeup still clinging to her cheeks. While he stood above her, all power and muscle, exuding strength and control. In that moment they were complete opposites.

"Okay." He repeated back quietly. "I do have a plan."


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Frank drove through the clogged streets of the city, eyes scanning every face on his way. He'd left the girl and the kid with Curtis. If there was anyone is this God forsaken world he knew he could still trust, it was him. If he died today, Curt would know what to do. He would help her the rest of the way.

And besides, if today was the day he died, he'd be taking half of those scumbags with him.

His mind drifted to the little girl, small black ringlets hanging around her round face. Big green eyes staring back him appreciatively when he handed her his phone to watch a movie. She had no judgements to pass about him. She didn't care who he was or what he did. In that instant, he was her hero. He missed the simpleness that came with children. It made his heart ache for Lisa and Frank. They used to rush home to tell him about that day in school in mundane, painstaking detail. What he wouldn't do to have that back.

Then there was her aunt. What kind of stupid name was Bellamy anyway? She was stubborn, but she was fierce in her own way. He'd give her that much. The similarities between the kid and her ended with the dark hair. The woman's eyes were darker, heavier, filled with all the bad shit she'd seen.

But that stubbornness is what would get her killed. It's what'll get her in trouble if she lands with the wrong people. She had gone after him with no hesitation back at the apartment. Hell, even this morning she'd been ready to lay into him when she woke up and then stood toe to toe with him in the kitchen. Yeah, that lack of fear was a flaw. An admirable one, but still.

He thought about the way she had yielded in the kitchen. Like she realized the stupidity in fighting him, in standing up to him. Her ass had hit the chair so quickly he'd had to stifle a laugh. But when he saw her body shiver in fear, the muscles in her legs tense up, ready to defend herself, the laugh died in his throat.

There was a part of him that hated being the cause of that fear, being the monster she was afraid of. But it was necessary. Fear would keep her in line.

The light he'd been waiting for turned green and he blinked away the image of Bellamy's fear filled eyes. He had work to do.

Jimmy belonged to the Irish Dogs. It had been easy enough to set up a "meeting" with the Irish and the other gangs that had names on that fucking list. Easy for Frank to send out a message posing as one of them saying he had the girl and was willing to deal. It spread through the city like wildfire.

They all wanted her. Wanted that list. And they were all willing to do whatever it took to get to her. Oh yeah, today their little territorial wars meant nothing. Today, they were a united front.

And today, they were all under one roof. Exactly where Frank wanted them to be.

He stood on a nearby rooftop, watching them arrive one by one at the old warehouse through the scope of his sniper. Men of all races, ethnicities, shapes and sizes piled in, all leaving their guns in the guarded basket at the door. Her knew better than to believe that they'd go in unarmed. No doubt every single one of them had another gun hidden on their person.

It was easy for him to pick out which ones were law enforcement. All police carried themselves in a similar manner, even the rotten ones. Long tactful strides, straight shoulders, right hands always lifted a bit higher to be as close as possible to the gun hanging on their hip.

Another gray van pulled up, side doors sliding open and men pouring out into the lot. Two of them turned and yanked something out of the van behind them. No. Not something, someone.

The bag over their head made them hard to identify at first, but the long slim frame covered in familiar clothing gave it away. She was completely limp in the guy's arms as he slung her over his shoulder. Frank would have thought she was dead had it not been for the bag over head. Why cover her eyes if she was dead.

Two hours. He'd left her with Curtis only two hours ago. How the fuck did this happen. He cursed to himself, heart beat picking up speed.

"Fuck." He spit. Time stood still as he waited to see if they'd pull Miya from the van next, or Curt. But it looked like she was alone. We're the others already dead. A ball formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck!"

She just needed some air. Curtis had tried to stop her, but unless he planned on tying her to a chair, he couldn't. He was a good man, Bellamy could see it in his eyes. They were deep and soulful, flooding with concern and hope. What a rarity in this city.

The air outside was cooler than she'd expected and the thin zip up she had borrowed from Frank didn't help to stave it off. She hugged it closer anyway. Though cold, the openness felt good. It was exactly what she needed. The cramped trailer, Curtis's tiny apartment, it had all be suffocating these past 24 hours.

She couldn't help but replay her last conversation with Frank as she leaned against the outside wall of Curtis's building.

"_I'll call a meeting." He said, stuffing some shirts into a duffle bag. "Tell them I have you and the list and I'm willing to hand you over to the highest bidder." _

_The stupidity of the plan wasn't lost on her. He'd die. It was that simple. The man really had a death wish. And for what? What did he get out of this? She had asked his as much on their way to Curt's. _

"_I… I just can't sit back and watch the innocent die. Not when I know there's somethin' I can do about it." _

"_So you believe me?" the word _innocent _hadn't been lost on her. "You think I'm innocent?"_

"_I think you believe that you're innocent." he countered, the corner of his mouth pulling up into what could almost count as a smile. _

"_Trust me, I'd give you whatever you wanted if it meant that we'd be safe." Bellamy peered down at Miya who occupied the middle seat of the truck. _

"_You'll be safe." the conviction in his voice startled her. She let her eyes travel up to his face, which was still concentrating on the road. He had morals. Were they fucked up? Yeah. But they were there. Something about the way he spoke to Miya, the way he interacted with her, made Bellamy wonder if he was a father. Where were his kids now? _

Bellamy was so lost in her own head, thoughts of Miya, Jimmy and Frank all overlapping one another, that she didn't even realize she was being watched. And when she did catch on, it was too late.

The van pulled up to the curb and the two men who had come up on either side pushed her in. It was done in a matter of seconds. She didn't even have time to scream.

A weight appeared on top of her, pinning her to the van's floor. She rolled her body but no amount of squirming would be enough to counter his body weight. Rough hands shoved something soft into her mouth and pressed a long strip of tape down over top of it, preventing her from spitting it out. Preventing her from calling out for help. Plastic zip ties bound her wrists together, biting into her skin.

"Shut her up." a voice from the front seat shouted back just before something hard made contact with the side of her head. The lights went out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Read & Review! **

SIX

She was awake. She had been for a few minutes. But her eyes remained closed, her ears open. Bellamy could hear the voices around her, but the sentences didn't make sense. From the feel of it, her hands were bound above her head. The tips of her toes barely touched the ground beneath her causing her arms to feel like they were being ripped from the sockets. There's a hard throb pounding against the back of her skull.

A sudden wave of nausea forced her to give herself up.

She leaned to the side as far as the restraints would allow and she wretched. The room went silent for only a second before someone spoke to her.

"Where is it?" the man asked. Her stomach curled in on itself, threatening to empty again. The familiarity of the accent caused her already pounding heart to quicken, her chest to tighten. "Give us the list and we'll make it quick."

"I don't…" Bellamy shook her head, which only made her feel queasy. "Please." she remembered begging Frank the same way she was begging the man, the men, in front of her. The brightness of the artificial lights burned her eyes, forcing her to blink rapidly There were at least 5 of them that she could see, but further off down the hall she heard other voices. The difference was, Frank hadn't hit her when she begged. These guys did.

A fist connected hard and fast with the side of her cheek. The coppery taste of blood quickly settled on her tongue.

She would die here.

She felt it in her bones. These men would kill her because she wouldn't… no, couldn't… give them what they so desperately wanted.

They asked over and over and over again. _Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?_ And every single time, she gave the same answer, the only answer she had, _I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. _For each time she gave the wrong reply, a fist collided with some part of her body. Face, stomach, chest. The pain was everywhere. It engulfed every inch of her, bringing her closer and closer to unconsciousness.

"You little bitch." one of the men sneered, spit flying from his lips onto Bellamy's face. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell he was too close. She could smell his putrid breath as he breathed the words onto her. "You think you're tough?" he ran his tongue up the side of her neck. Bellamy let out the first cry since being pushed into the van. She could take the beating, it came almost naturally thanks to her earlier years. Being beat up in high school and starting fights at every bar she entered had given her the thick skin and skull to take one hell of a punch.

But this was different. The feel of his rough tongue on her skin was by far the worst pain she'd ever experienced. It pained her soul, her bones, her blood. And it would never even leave a mark.

"You'll wish you were dead when we're through. Each and every one of us." he snickered, and a few of the men behind him did the same. Bellamy's eyes had been closed and she hadn't seen the knife in his hand. So when the sharp edge pierced through her skin, the shock mixed with the pain and caused a strangled sound to leave her throat.

"I don't fucking have it!" she cried out angrily, feeling the blood ooze from the long cut he left just below her collarbone. Was the placement symbolic? If he had cut deep enough, hard enough, fast enough, held it at the right angle, the blade would have taken off her breast. Was that his way of reminding her of what he could take from her?

A loud crash came from down the hall. The man in front of her looked back at his men and tipped his head towards the sound, silently commanding them to go check it out. But his attention was back on her immediately. His lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal startlingly perfect teeth. Not what she would have expected.

"Now, why would Jimmy lie to us, huh? His own family?" he cocked his head and pushed the knife up to her throat. With light pressure, it broke through the thin layer of skin, but barely felt like a pin prick. "I don't think he would. So," he pressed harder, "where is it?"

More noise erupted from the hall, closer this time. He turned, drawing a pistol up at the same exact moment that Frank came into view. Bellamy's heart stopped mid beat. Was her mind playing tricks, or was the giant covered in blood at the doorway really him? His black shirt was covered by a bullet proof vest. The vest had what, in her warped mind, looked something like a white skull printed on the front. But it was hard to tell because patches of red and black covered the print.

The man who'd been asking her questions unloaded a bullet in his direction. Bellamy's breath caught in her throat. But the bullet went wide. Before he had the chance to pull the trigger a second time, Frank shot his own gun. Blood spattered onto Bellamy's face as the bullet plunged into the man's forehead directly in front of her.

Unable to wipe the blood from her eyes, she watched the next few seconds through a sheen of red. Limbs flying at limbs, a few shots ringing through the air, the sounds of grunts and blunt hits connecting with flesh. She caught glimpses of motion, but the only thing that she could see clearly, was the pool of blood forming around her feet from her captor.

As suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. It was as if everything stopped. Even her heart and her breath seemed to shut down for a long moment while she waited for something to happen. The helplessness of her position made her want to cry in frustration as she wrung her hands trying in vain to wiggle from the cuffs. She couldn't protect herself, she couldn't even wipe the damn blood off her face.

As if answering her prayers, a rough material was wiped down her face, taking most of the blood along with it. Bellamy blinked a few times, letting the scene in front of her come into focus. Frank was there, his sleeve drawn down over his hand. The floor was littered with bodies of the men who moments ago, were laughing at her torture. Blood coated the cement floor and walls, guns and knives scattered about.

But the room was so… still. No one moved, no one spoke. The only noise was coming from her and Frank as they both drank in as much air as their lungs would allow.

While she took it all in, Frank's hands wrestled with the chains above her head. He must have pulled the key to the cuffs off one of the bodies because she heard it lock into place and felt the sweet release of her wrists. Without the chains to support her body weight, Bellamy nearly fell on all fours. Frank half caught her and dragged her to her feet. His black eyes raced over her, from head to toe, quickly assessing the damage.

"We have to go." he said urgently. His voice, which had terrified her the first time she'd heard it, was a sweet comfort now. With an arm around her waist, which she was pretty sure was holding her upright, he guided her through the dark halls. More bodies were strewn across the rooms, some laying at very disturbing angles, bones clearly broken. The metallic scent of blood made her feel queasy all over again.

"Did you…" she trailed off weakly. Had he done all of this? Frank pulled her closer when she slowed her pace.

The thought alone should terrify her, but it didn't. In fact, it was the opposite. His arm curled around her, hand pressed against her side as he shuffled them both forward, made the fear dissolve.

"Move, let's go." his legs moved faster. He was on a time crunch, that much was apparent. Bellamy did her best to keep up, even with shaking legs and clouded vision. Once outside, her first observation was that it was night time. How long had she been in there, tied up and tortured? It had been mid morning when they'd shoved her in that damn van.

"Miya?" She asked with bated breaths as they moved towards the familiar black truck.

"Fine. She's still with Curtis." He assured her quickly.

"How do you…"

"I called him when I saw them pull you from the van." he cut off her question with the answer. The relief she felt was overwhelming. Miya was still safe. And for the first time, she let herself think about her own broken body.

As they drove out of the dark and uneven parking lot, a bomb erupted behind them. The truck shook from the force and Bellamy let out a scream of shock. She whipped her head to find the cause. All her eyes could make out was a plume of fast rising smoke and rubble flying through the air.

The entire building, which she had been chained to only minutes before, was gone. Utterly and completely demolished in seconds.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seriously guys, Read & Review! It's how I determine if a story is still worth my time**

SEVEN

"Let me see." he said as soon as the door to the trailer was locked behind him. Bellamy had all but collapsed onto the couch the very second she stepped foot inside.

"I want to see Miya." she said through gritted teeth. It felt like her whole body was submerged in water that caused it pain. Hurt was everywhere. Her face, her hands, her stomach. It only seemed to get worse with time.

"Let me see." he said again, kneeling beside the couch. She saw his hands go for her shoulder and instinctively pushed him away. Using her arms to propel herself upward, she stood. "You're bleeding." he pointed out, clearly annoyed.

"You think I don't know that?" Bellamy barked on a laugh. "Call Curtis and have him bring Miya. I need to see Miya."

She could feel herself filling up with emotion. It started at her toes and slowly consumed every inch of her body until it threatened to choke her. Tears pooled in her eyes, her heart raced in fear and anticipation and sparks made themselves visible at the edges of her vision. She felt herself sway back and forth.

"Let me see your damn shoulder before you pass out." he was standing too, towering over her as always. His hand landed on her shoulder, pushing her body back onto the couch. For a moment, she couldn't do anything but breathe, and even that was a challenge. Her eyes watched his fingers as they pulled back the torn fabric of her shirt. Blood seeped through the threads and stained his hands.

Once her body stopped moving, she couldn't get it to go again. Were there cinder blocks tied to her arms? It sure felt so. Her neck wouldn't listen when she told it to turn. Her eyes were locked in one place, unmoving, unseeing.

"I can't see. Dammit." he mumbled. "The bathroom has more light." she registered that he was speaking, but the words didn't make sense. They sounded like he was whispering from a hundred yards away. "No,no, no, hey. Stay with me." a forced pulled her face to the side, putting her eyes directly in line with his.

The quick motion caused bile to rise in her throat and threaten to spew out. But it was also enough to knock her back into reality. She felt his tight grip on her chin and brought her own hand up to pry him away.

"Bathroom, come on." he pulled her to her feet and she limped her way to the bathroom. Bellamy felt like a robot. She was walking, but she didn't _feel_ herself walking. She didn't feel her feet on the ground, her muscles tensing with the steps. She felt nothing. In the back of her mind, the logical part, she knew she was in shock. And if she knew, Frank did too.

The overhead light in the tiny bathroom beamed down and let off a low hum of power. Frank rustled through the med kit, tossing things onto the side of the tub when they got in his way. Band aids, gauze, thread, needles. Finally he pulled out a small sterile wipe and turned towards her.

"Take that off." he blinked down at her stomach and then turned on the tap. Bellamy stood still, watching him scrub the dirt and blood off his hands. Her hand settled at the hem of her jeans, but stopped there. Frank let out a growl of frustration, which she was sure came with an eye role that she couldn't see.

His hands took over and began fumbling with the end of her shirt, his knuckles bushing against the skin below her belly button. In a flash, Bellamy's mind erupted. Faces of men she hadn't seen in a year ran across her vision like a slideshow. Their voices clear as day in her ears, heavy with that sickening Irish accent. Her wrists burned where they'd held her down, her throat course and sore from screaming. Leg shaking from the pain of being pierced with the sharp blade. Heart kicking into overdrive, Bellamy pushed Frank away. It wasn't his hands she felt, it was theirs.

"Alright, alright." his voice was a low grunt. Frank pulled his hands back, keeping them low and in between them. Bellamy's breaths came quickly, her chest heaving with each gasp. He bent his knees, bringing their eyes to the same level. But her eyes couldn't be still and bounced around like ping pong balls. Frank's fingers grabbed her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to focus on him. "You're here." he whispered.

The statement caught her off guard and yet, it anchored her. _You're here_. Bellamy's eyes finally latched onto his. She was here. In this shitty bathroom of this shitty trailer. She wasn't in the warehouse. She wasn't strung up or held down. She wasn't being violated and she wasn't being beaten.

She was here. With Frank.

"Welcome back." he said when Bellamy finally stopped convulsing with rapid breaths. "Yeah, flashbacks are a bitch." he murmured. She sent him a confused look. Is that what just happened to her? A flashback?

"I…" she trailed off, not even sure what she had planned on saying.

"You want me to patch ya up? Or do you still plan on bleeding to death?" his tone was stoic, but a small quirk of his lips told her he was joking. She glanced down at her chest where dark gooey liquid stained the front of her shirt. He had cut deeper than she'd thought. Shouldn't the blood have stopped by now? Frank had turned to busy himself at the sink, scrubbing soap into this hands. She was thankful that his attention was elsewhere for a moment, thankful that his eyes were no longer breaking through her exterior. And thankful that he hadn't tried to undress her again. He'd leave that task to her.

Bellamy's fingers played with the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and letting it drop. She had a bra on, and knew this wasn't the time to be shy. It was life or death.

It was a long process made longer by her slow and lethargic pace. But Frank had stopped rushing, allowing her to take her time and do it her way. When she was finally settled back on the toilet seat, she folded her arms around her middle and awkwardly sat forward, trying to hide herself. It was stupid for her to be so timid.

But as Frank bent in front of her, she couldn't stop herself from shaking. His dark eyes examined the wound and only left that spot to come directly up to her own. Carefully, Frank let his hand come to rest on her shoulder, just above the source of the blood, keeping his eyes on her to gauge her reaction to the touch. When she didn't flinch away, he continued his work on the wound. Wiping away whatever dirt and blood he could to get a clear view.

In the back of her mind, it occured to Bellamy that he must have had medical training. The way his fingers deftly worked around her damaged flesh was cut and dry. No bullshit, just work. He reached over and pulled something from the first aid kit on the edge of the tub. It was a clear airplane bottle.

_What the hell? _She thought as she watched him pull the cap off the small bottle with his teeth. Was he seriously going to have a goddamn drink in the middle of this? But when he peered up at her with an apologetic look and a mumbled "sorry" it became clear. Without much more warning, he poured the liquid over her collarbone, allowing it to drip down over the cut.. The burn was so strong that she couldn't stop herself from nearly jumping out of her seat. In fact, if it hadn't been for Frank's giant hands holding her in place, she would have.

"Easy." He repeated the word a few times before the burning subsided. Bellamy let her breath out through her teeth. That was the worst of it. From that moment on, Frank worked in silence to clean and cover the cut. She watched him, idly amazed with his efficentness.

"Thank you." she whispered, feeling suddenly compelled to say the words. He didn't look up, but nodded in acknowledgement.


	8. Chapter8

EIGHT

"It'll leave a scar, but nothing serious." Frank concluded a minute or two later.

"Can you call Kurtis?" she'd been waiting for it to be over to ask, knowing he'd likely be pissed if she asked before he got the wound cleaned.

"Clean yourself up first." he said after a pause. "Then we'll talk about it."

"No, you said…" she tried to stand, but the bathroom was too cramped, and he was too big to leave her much space.

"I know what I said." he cut her off. "But it's the middle of the damn night."

"I don't fucking care what time it is!" she heard the hysteria in her own voice. "You can't keep her from me!"

"I'm not keeping you from seeing her." his voice was loud, echoing off the linoleum tiles. "I'm trying to keep her from seeing you. Have you seen yourself?" he didn't mean the question to be rude or condescending, he was asking sincerely. When she didn't answer, he nodded towards the mirror above the sink, silently telling her to take a look.

The reflection was foreign to her. That couldn't be her. Strands of dark hair clung to her forehead and cheeks, kept in place by dried blood. Her right eye was swollen and red, angry looking. There was a faint hint of purple along her jawline, which would be deep and pronounced in a few more hours. A small cut above her eyebrow left a thin line of blood trailing down the side of her eye.

She looked monstrous.

"You want me to wake that little girl up, pull her from a warm bed and bring her here to see you like this?" He asked. But he wasn't really asking. He was telling her that he wouldn't. He just wanted her to think she had a choice in the matter.

Bellamy gave a slight shake of her head. She truly didn't want to terrorize Miya. And that's exactly what would happen.

"Can I shower?" she asked softly, unsure if it was a good idea to get her body wet. But Frank nodded in approval.

"Just don't get the bandages wet. I'll leave some clothes at the door." and he walked away.

Before, the thought of showering in this trailer was repugnant. Knowing that the door didn't lock and that Frank was just outside had been enough to make her push the idea away. But now, she craved the warm embrace of the water. She shimmied her way out of her clothes and relished in the steaming drops that cascaded down. The bandage got wet, and it stung, but Bellamy truly didn't care. Nothing else mattered in those sweet moments more than the heat and the sensation it left as it burned away every trace of the men who'd taken her.

When she was dry, she wrapped herself with the towel and cracked the door. Sure enough, Frank had left a small pile of clothes just outside. Bellamy quickly rooted through them and found an oversized long sleeve and a pair of gym shorts. She hated sleeping in pants, and all she wanted right now was to sleep.

With barely more than a mumbled "goodnight" towards him in the living area, she made her way from the bathroom to the bedroom. The bed looked glorious. Like a cloud of softness and comfort. But even as she laid her head on the pillow, she knew sleep wouldn't come.

Bellamy laid there, eyes wide open, for half an hour. She counted her breaths and tried to force her mind to be still. she rolled from one side to the other, tangling herself in the blankets and the shorts, which were several sizes too long to begin with. The shirt would hang just above her knee anyway, so she felt safe to rid herself of the shorts altogether.

But she couldn't force away the pain, the aches, the feel of hands all over her body. Couldn't force her mind to shut down. All she could do was lay there, eyes staring into darkness, listening to the soft muffled voices of the TV Frank watched in the other room.

He couldn't sleep either.

The realization made the decision for her. Without much thought, she wiggled her way out of the blankets and towards the couch. Frank watched her curiously as she carefully sat down beside him. Slowly, she moved her body into a position that caused her the least amount of pain.

"I can't sleep." She admitted quietly. Frank said nothing, but offered a single nod before turning his attention back to the TV. Sitting there, shoes off and muscles relaxed, he didn't look as intimidating. Maybe that's why Bellamy felt comfortable enough to ask her next question. "Where did you learn how to Lucy people like that?"

"Learn to what?" His head snapped back to her, brows knitted together in confusion.

"Lucy, like the movie." Bellamy prompted. "You know, they cut her open and use her as a drug mule. The drugs make her all kick ass and boss-like." It was clear he wasn't understanding, and she rolled her eyes. Of course he wasn't savvy on pop culture. "Where'd you learn to fight, Frank?"

"Hell." He grumbled after a long stint of hesitation. "Military." He offered as a follow up explanation. Bellamy nodded. She'd had her suspicions about his military background.

"And let me guess, now you hate the government and are on a mission to destroy it?" She was half joking, but secretly thought she was onto something. How else does a man like him end up in this fucking trailer fighting this fight?

"Something like that."

A man of many words, she thought sarcastically. Bellamy recalled about the way he had thrown himself over Miya, the way he'd treated her and the way he'd be careful with his words when she was nearby. That meant something.

"You're a father." She guessed aloud. Another long stretch of silence followed. She was sure he wasn't going to answer.

"I used to be." He finally whispered. Bellamy stared at him, shock rattling through her brain. His eyes were dark and distant. "They, uh. They're gone." The words stumbled out of his mouth and she had a feeling he hadn't wanted them to because his eyes grew even harder. His jaw clenched and he turned his face away. For a while, they sat in silence. Him pretending to watch whatever stupid show was on TV, and her at a loss of words.

"I'm sorry." she whispered after she built up the courage. As usual, Frank said nothing in response, his eyes still glued to the TV. But Bellamy knew he'd heard, and that was all that mattered. She turned her own attention to the show, not really caring what it was. She wasn't interested in the content, she was interested in the distraction.

He had dozed off and jostled awake again suddenly.

Bellamy was there, curled up on the other end of the couch. It was still dark and the same movie was scrawled over the TV screen. He couldn't have been asleep for too long. He watched her body rise and fall with each breath she took. It was soothing. But he couldn't stop his eyes from travelling down to the flesh of her legs left uncovered by the oversized shirt. It was nothing scandalous, just a knee and a bit of thigh but it still made him feel uneasy. Like he was doing something wrong, or seeing something he shouldn't see. Why was he so nervous about seeing her like this when only an hour or so ago he was nearly ripping her shirt off?

Because there had been a purpose before.

Now, the only purpose was his own curiosity.

He thought that type of curiosity had left him long ago. Watching your family bleed out while you lay helpless will do that to a man. It took away his interest.

A small white line of flesh poked out from beneath the shirt. The start of a scar, but the rest of it was hidden. He'd done his research before going to her apartment that first night. Frank knew she wasn't a law abiding citizen. She'd grown up around thugs and gangs, and when an opportunity arose to leave, her older sister was the one to take it. Not Bellamy. She stayed in the shitty little town, with a cracked out, no good boyfriend. And now she's here. Another casualty of the vicious cycle.

As if she could hear him thinking about her, she stretched and wiggled in her sleep. He stilled himself, afraid that she'd wake up if he moved. Or breathed. Sleep was elusive, she needed all that she could get.

When she settled again, her leg was as straight as the small couch would allow, causing more of it to be left exposed. Thinking of his own comfort, he grabbed a throw blanket from behind them and was about to toss it over her body. But he stopped when he saw more of the scar. That small white line fed into a much wider and uglier scar that trailed up her thigh. There was a space in the middle of it that was raised. Every scar was different, Frank knew that from experience. But even he had to admit that this was odd. He didn't have the chance to think on it further, because she moved again.

Moved wasn't the right word. Thrashed was more accurate. Her limbs flew in different directions before she bolted upright on the couch, chest heaving. Wild eyes searched the room viciously, finally settling on him. Recognition slowly filled her face and her breathing evened out.

"Good?" he asked when she finally came back to reality. His first tour with the Marines had left him with nightmares for months after he'd come home. And if he was being honest with himself, they still come to him on occasion.

"Yeah. Yeah." she said groggily. "Is it morning?" she swivelled her head to peek out the window, shoulders slumping when she saw only darkness outside the trailer.

"That's one hell of a scar." Frank tilted his head down towards her legs. Blood rose to her cheeks almost instantly when she followed his motion and realized how exposed she was. It was a hard reminder to him that even though she'd seemed to gain more trust for him, she was still afraid. Or at least, uncertain of him.

"Another beautiful gift from my ex." she mumbled as she tugged the shirt down over her knees and drew them into her frame, creating a sort of tent. "It's how they 'mark what's theirs'." she feigned an Irish accent. A pretty terrible one at that, causing a small smile graced his lips.

"Sounds like Jimmy was a real gem." he rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the couch. It had been a while since he'd stocked the fridge, but there were still a few bottles of water lingering on the door. He tossed one over to her, and was mildly impressed when her hand shot out to catch it. She noticed and gave a quick shrug.

"You've gotta have good reflexes when you're dealing with a three year old throwing temper tantrums." She pulled her lips in and raised her eyebrows as if to say You know what I mean? And he did. God, he truly did. Lisa had been the worst. Hearing "no" for an answer would often send her into fits of rage beyond his belief. Anything within her reach would be hurled his way. Hairbrush, toys, shoes, you name, she threw it. The memory caused laughter to bubbled through his chest.

"Yeah, I get that." he said with a laugh. Bellamy's head was cocked to one side, an unreadable expression on as she stared at him. "What?" he unscrewed the cap of his water and gulped a few sips.

"Nothing." she shook her head and struggled to get to her feet. Frank watched her face scrunch in pain as she used sore muscles and jostled wounds he couldn't see. All of this because she fell for the wrong guy. Wasn't that every broken woman's story.

"So why'd you stay?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. Halfway to a full standing position, she lifted her eyes. "With Jimmy. Why'd you stay with that asshole?" Bellamy rolled her eyes.

"It's not that simple." she sucked in a breath and brought herself to her full height. "I wanted to go long before I actually did. But there was this… I don't know, unspoken threat." Frank could see she was uncomfortable, her eyes drifted around the room, finding anywhere to land that wasn't on him. "There was no 'getting out' with the Dogs. I argued that I wasn't one of them, they wouldn't allow women in their ranks. That's when…" she trailed off briefly, steeling herself for the next memories. "They marked me as one of their Bitches." she patted her leg for good measure. Frank imagined the ugly scar now covered by her shirt. His shirt.

He watched her in silence for a few seconds, taking her in. Thick dark hair, half dried and bundled into a heap at the crown of her head. Her long frame under the baggy shirt. Long limbs, curled around her middle, protecting herself from the mean world. His eyes snapped up to hers, and though she wasn't looking at him, he could still seem them perfectly. Large and dark, hooded by thick lashes.

"I call bullshit." he said suddenly, ripping himself away from the small fire his thoughts had started to form.

"I'm not lying." She insisted. "I was afraid that if I tried to run, they'd…"

"That's not how they mark their girls." he clarified his meaning. "You did what you had to in order to survive. I get that. But I know these guys. They brand their girls." He pushed himself away from the counter he'd been leaning on and moved towards her. "Behind the ear." he pointed to the right side of her head. Her long fingers reached up and touched the spot but shook her head.

"They didn't do that."

Frank was tempted to check for himself. Not because he didn't believe her, but because he wanted an excuse to touch her.

Jesus Christ, Frank. He thought to himself. He turned his back to her, pretending to busy himself at the sink.

"Try and get some sleep." He grumbled, praying that she'd walk away. He needed space. He needed clarity. Bellamy didn't reply, but he heard her bare feet shuffling on the laminate floor back to the bedroom.


	9. Chapter9

**This chapter was short, and honestly I'm not sure if I like it. Let me know! **

NINE

The next morning, Bellamy laid in bed far too long. She knew she needed to get up and ask him to call Kurt. But the bed was so damn comfortable. It had been a while since she had a full bed to herself. Yeah Miya had a separate bedroom, but she still crawled in with Bellamy almost every night.

The very thought of Miya had Bellamy sitting up. She untangled herself from the sheets and tugged her jeans back on. They were dirty, but for some reason, walking out to the main room in only an oversized T-shirt felt wrong during the day. It had been different last night… hadn't it?

Outside of the bedroom, Frank was nowhere to be seen. For a split second, Bellamy panicked. But she quickly talked herself down. He probably ran out for food. He'll be back.

She bent down and opened the fridge, searching for water, right when the trailer door swung open and startled her. Heart pounding, breath catching, hands fumbling, she looked up.

"Jesus Frank." her hand came up to cover her chest, feeling the rapid beats of her heart. Bellamy closed the fridge and turned towards him. "Did you call Kurt yet?" Frank didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a pistol from his waistband and laid it on the table. Then, he just stared at her. She could feel that something was wrong, that he had something to say. He seemed… pissed?

"What's wrong? What happened? Is she okay?"

"The kid's fine." his words left her feeling nothing but relief.

"So you called? Are they coming here?" all thoughts were on Miya and seeing her again.

"That scar," Frank nodded down to her leg "who stitched it up?" Bellamy's eyebrows kneaded together. What the fuck does that have to do with anything? "You go to the hospital?"

"Actually, no." she shook her head. "Jimmy brought me to their own guy. The guy they always go to when they're busted up. He doesn't ask questions." she finished with a shrug of her shoulders. "Is Kurtis on his way?"

"That's not how they mark their girls." he whispered, shaking his own head slowly.

"Yeah, I got that last night Frank." Bellamy huffed out irritably. "Can you answer my damn questions please? When will I see Miya?" His dark eyes bore down on her, making her feel anxious.

"Let me see it." he stepped closer. Her heart started to beat faster, once again feeling that familiar fear creep into her.

"Cut the shit, Frank." she surprised herself by keeping her voice steady. "Where is Miya?" she backed up as he closed the distance, her spine pushing against the handle of the fridge behind her. "Frank, you're scaring me." she admitted when he was finally looming over her with less than an inch between them. The whole scene eerily reminded her of the first night they'd met.

"They didn't mark you." he looked down at her. "They Lucy-ed you." His face was serious, but Bellamy didn't understand why.

"They… what?" She tried to duck by him, but Frank landed a hand against the freezer near the side of her face, trapping her between his arm and the wall.

"Lucy-ed you. Like your movie. You're their mule." he explained, but Bellamy still didn't understand.

"I don't…"

"They cut you open and put it inside of you." his voice was louder than before. "They put the damn list inside of you and you never even knew it." she was shaking her head when Frank suddenly reached down between them. His massive hand stretched over her thigh, directly over the scar. The pressure he applied caused her to cry out in pain and surprise.

"Stop!" Bellamy exclaimed.

"See, that shouldn't hurt." he removed his hand. "For something that was closed up a year ago, that shouldn't hurt you. It also shouldn't be raised like that."

"Sorry, are you a doctor?" she spat venomously as she pushed at his chest. "It's scar tissue! That's why it's raised. It was so deep that the tissue started to…"  
"Nah, that's some bullshit line that their little doctor friend fed you." He explained tossing his head to the side.

"How would you know?" Bellamy shoved him away, desperate to put space between them again. But Frank wouldn't let it happen. "You're out of your mind, Frank."

He cocked his head and grabbed her wrist. His grip was hard, but it wasn't enough to hurt her. Frank turned slightly and brought her hand to his opposite forearm. He forced her fingers to skim across the skin of his own scar.

"What do you feel?" he asked, keeping her hand in place even though she was pulling away. "You feel any bumps? Any scar tissue? No. That was deep. A knife, through my arm. In one side, out the other." He moved her hand up to his neck and dipped it under his collar.He pressed it against his collarbone.

"Stop." Bellamy was holding back her tears. He was scaring her. But her fear was from more than just Frank's hands and skin. It was the point he was trying to make that frightened her.

"What do you feel here, huh?" His voice was raised. "You feel anything?" She shook her head, tears finally running down her cheeks. With his free hand, Frank pulled the collar of his shirt aside to reveal a tiny, round white scar. "You think this bullet went deeper than Jimmy's knife?"

"Frank, I get it." Bellamy tried to wrestle away from his grip, but Frank won out, and he wasn't done yet. Next, he pulled her hand lower and she began to struggle harder when he slipped their hands up under the hem of his shirt. Frank slapped her hand to his side. Bellamy's face was hot with embarrassment as he felt the hard muscle beneath her hand.

"What do you feel?" he asked again. "How deep do you think this one was? Do you think I had a doctor sew this one up? Or do you think I did it on my own with shaking hands in the middle of the damn desert?"

"Please, Frank, stop!" She was sobbing. He was right. She knew he was right. They had done it. Jimmy and his friends had cut her open, not to mark her with the scar, but to use her as their safe. They had, as Frank said, Lucy-ed her.

Frank let her hand go, but Bellamy didn't even realize it. She stayed frozen in place, the thoughts swirling in her mind.

It was in her. The list was inside of her. It had been for over a year. How is that even possible? IS it possible?

"How?" she choked out tilting her head to see Frank's face. He was watching her carefully, probably to gauge whether or not she was playing him. Did he think that she'd known? His fingers circled around her wrist again, but this time, he was gentle about it. Bellamy was embarrassed to realize that her hand was still pressed against his abdomen.

"Probably a special hard drive." he pulled her hand away, but didn't let go. "We used it to see it all the time with drug smugglers. They'd swallow it or sew it into them, then take it out when they got where they needed to be."

A rush of anger rolled over her, curling her hands into fists.

"Get it out." she ground her teeth. "Get it out now." Her other hand scratched at the fabric of her jeans over the scar. The pain brought fresh tears to her eyes but she ignored it, scratching even harder. "Get it out!"

"Alright." He grabbed her hand to stop her. "Alright." His voice was soft, a whisper.


End file.
